


Impervious Freedom

by Moonfreckle (Sunfreckle)



Series: Sweet like Blood, Sugar [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, But:, Content Warnings in Author's Note, M/M, Revenge, Romantic Friendship, Vampire!Grantaire, Vampire!Jehan, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 23:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Moonfreckle
Summary: Outtake for "Fangs and Flower Power", in which Jehan takes Grantaire out for his first drink and a spot of revenge.





	Impervious Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Cw: violence, (implied) homophobia, blood, injuries, anxiety/fear.

 

The only word Grantaire can think of to describe this is surreal. He’s sitting on a low rooftop, leaning against Jehan, looking at the bar across the street. That’s where he met those assholes last night.

“Humans are creatures of habit,” Jehan had said. But that seems a long time ago now. They’ve been sitting here for a while.

“What if they’re not here?” Grantaire mutters tensely.

He can still feel the first two blows. The one to his gut and the one to his head.

Jehan makes a vague noise. He’s been rather quiet, absentmindedly playing with Grantaire’s hair, winding the messy strands around his fingers. Grantaire hasn’t mentioned it, because he enjoys it immensely, but Jehan is acting a big different. He’s more…touchy. Or maybe not more, but differently. Grantaire is used to Jehan lying on him, against him, draping himself around him, but Grantaire is usually the one to do the stroking and petting.

He leans into the touch of Jehan’s caressing fingers a little and wonders if it has something to do with the drinking. Grantaire remembers the dazed, enamoured look in Jehan’s eyes when his lips were still stained red with his blood, and smiles.

“We might be able to find them even if they don’t show up,” Jehan says thoughtfully.

“Yeah?” Grantaire asks. He’s still unsure about what this whole vampire thing means when it comes to physicality. He’s stronger and faster, he can feel that. Climbing up here was a whole lot easier than it should have been. And the world has an intensity to it that it didn’t have before. In complete darkness, he sees nothing, but even the faintest light is enough for him now. Even in the dirty half-light of the nightly city he can distinguish colour. All his senses seem to have this. The smells are sharper, the sounds clearer…

“I’m not sure, since you were human when you met them,” Jehan says, looking at him, his hand slowly sliding out of his hair. “But maybe…”

“More vampire magic?” Grantaire says, grinning slightly.

Jehan makes an amused sound. “It has something to do with scent,” he says. For a moment his eyes glint. “I know it doesn’t apply here, but when you’ve recently drunk from someone you could track them across an entire city.”

“Really?” Grantaire says, that’s impressive.

“Oh yeah,” Jehan grins, but he hastily adds: “Of course you should never do that.”

Grantaire gives him a questioning look and Jehan looks back solemnly, counting on their slender fingers:

“Never hunt hungry, never overdrink or mortally wound and never go after people you’ve met before.”

Grantaire slants his head. “So…we’re breaking the last one.”

“Well,” Jehan huffs and for a moment a shadow passes through their eyes. “This is an exception.”

♦

Whenever a new set of people emerges from the bar and Grantaire looks forward to check the various faces, there is a flash of fear on his face that makes Jehan’s cold blood feel searing hot.

He has tried not to think about what exactly _happened_ to Grantaire. He really has. But the image of Grantaire drifting in and out of consciousness, blood trickling sickeningly sweet down his temple, his left arm twisted strangely at the shoulder…

Jehan still breathes to calm himself down, but it’s not as effective as it was when he was human. He can feel the rage scratching at the edges of his self-control. Jehan is breaking two rules tonight. It’s just not blood he’s hungry for.

Alexandre wouldn’t approve of this. Jehan can almost hear his voice in his head, soft French accent and all:

_“If you’re going after someone for revenge, mon petit, don’t hunt them. Just kill them. And don’t drink from them. Fear tastes bitter, mon chou, only ever drink in adoration…”_

Jehan glances at Grantaire. He looks just as he did as a human. Long hair unkempt, eyes pale blue, stubble lining his chin. A rough voice shouts something on the street below and Grantaire flinches for just a second. Jehan clenches their teeth and bites down on the fury. He has no interest in tasting fear. He want to taste bloody _terror_.

Carefully, slowly,  he pushes through the hot anger, through the cold fear behind it, all the way to the core, to the place he’s made inside himself for Grantaire. Jehan exhales with a soundless sigh and wraps his arms around him.

“We don’t have to do this,” he mutters. “If you…”

“Fuck no,” Grantaire breathes, staring at the entrance of the bar. “This was one of my favourite bars.”

He looks at Jehan and there’s something sharp in the lines of his face. Jehan has never seen Grantaire angry before. Disgruntled, frustrated, cynical, yes, but never-

“I want to make sure they _never_ do this again.” His voice is low, almost a growl, and Jehan can feel it vibrating through his body.

“They won’t,” he promises. “We’ll make sure of that.”

Grantaire’s fingers wrap around Jehan’s arm where it is wrapped around his and he squeezes gently, eyes fixed on the bar again. Jehan closes his own eyes and leans his forehead against the side of Grantaire’s head. They’ll pay. They’ll pay and they’ll live to _remember_.

Grantaire moves, lunging forward with sudden attention. “ _There_.”

Jehan looks up and sees two men exiting the bar. They’re loud and they move to take up space, but they’re just men. Monsters never look the part.

Grantaire is staring, features hardened.

“You’re sure?” Jehan asks.

“I’m sure,” he replies. His whole body is tense, but not with fear.

Jehan gets to his feet, letting his hands slide slowly off Grantaire’s shoulders. “Well then,” he says, looking down on him. “Let’s go.”

♦

Grantaire’s head is strangely empty as he follows Jehan down the side of the building. He moves so light, so silently, _gracefully_. He doubt he moves like that himself, but he’s quick and silent on his feet and he moves with remarkable ease.

The two men, who Grantaire is startled to remember so well, have walked off and Jehan glances back at him before following them. Jehan doesn’t sneak, he just walks. There’s nothing about him that betrays anything, but Grantaire can _feel_ it. There’s no dance in his step, no playful movement of his head. Jehan isn’t walking or wandering, he’s hunting.

Even now Grantaire’s head is still and quiet. So is his body and he is very aware of t. There is no air rushing in and out of his lungs, no heart beating faster in his chest, no heat flushing his cheeks. None of the crowded feelings of physical excitement his life has been full of up till now But he does feel. He feels the air move past him like he’s slipping through it. He even feels his feet touching the ground like they barely have to. He even  feels a distant pulse, buried deep beneath his cold skin and a vicious clarity trickling down his spine. He’s walking a few steps behind Jehan, but suddenly he doesn’t know why. The streets are dark and empty here, only the two figures ahead of them in sight. This is not a bad neighbourhood, but it’s too quiet, too dark. Dangerous… Grantaire grins and speeds up.

He catches up with Jehan in a few quick steps and Jehan smiles at him. His smile is bright like silver in the dark. He holds out his hand, still walking, and Grantaire takes it, laces their fingers together and fixes his eyes on the two men again. Jehan does the same and they walk, side by side, hand in hand, through the dark. Their footsteps sound louder and louder in the still streets. Their feet are almost marching and Grantaire thinks of the rally.

He breathes in and takes in more than the now useless oxygen. He’s breathing in what this means. Walking like this. The fearlessness. The invincibility. The impervious _freedom_.

Without warning, one of the men looks back. He stops, making his friend halt too,and Grantaire smiles.

Because they know. Yes, their eyes dart to the clasped hands, the long hair, the flowers on Jehan’s shirt, and their lips form identical sneers. But they don’t taunt, make no sound but a nervous exhale of breath, because as soon as their eyes fix on their faces, they know.

“Hi,” Jehan singsongs, voice high and light. One of the men stares at him, eyes widening helplessly for a moment, but the other looks at Grantaire. Looks at his squared shoulders, his ripped shirt and then straight into his eyes.

“Remember me?” Grantaire asks. His tone is almost pleasant.

It’s too dark. Grantaire knows that. There’s not enough light to glint off their fangs. But they don’t even need to bare their teeth. The cowards start running as soon as he takes a single step forward.

Jehan’s laugh rings out like a sirensong and then drops into a command that rakes nails down Grantaire’s back:

“ _Stay_.”

Two pairs of knees hit the pavement.

Jehan and Grantaire move almost in unison.

The screaming is cut off before it’s even begun.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to write this, but Jane and Amanda asked for it and Débora and Talia encouraged it so... (I _really_ enjoyed writing this.)
> 
> Ps. No, they didn't kill them. Rule two is never broken.


End file.
